


i don't have a choice (but i still choose you)

by 1000_directions



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Demisexual Bucky Barnes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: For some people, finding a soulmate is the only goal, the only path forward. They need it, and Bucky just...doesn’t. He supposes it would be nice to have someone like that, but he doesn’t crave it like some people do. It doesn’t define him. He has a job that he likes well enough, and he has a great apartment, and he loves his family and his friends, and he has Clint, the best thing in his life since coming home from Afghanistan. It would be selfish to want anything more. He appreciates what he has, and he isn’t going to pretend that he’s incomplete just because no one’s ever blown his mind with a kiss.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 51
Kudos: 416
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo, Winterhawk Wonderland





	i don't have a choice (but i still choose you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Villainny (Nny)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/gifts).



> I was nearly 75% of the way through writing this when I realized I was writing a fic almost entirely about Winterhawk kisses for the undisputed _queen_ of Winterhawk kisses. No pressure there!!!! Nny, I took your fake dating prompt and your soulmates prompt and squashed them together with some other stuff and came up with this Frankenstein's monster of a fic. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Thank you to Amy for giving me the Intro to Soulmates 101 Tutorial that I _desperately_ needed. I would probably still be spinning my wheels without you. Thank you CB for reading through the early drafts of this and being so encouraging and supportive always.
> 
> This was written specifically for Nny, but right before posting, I realized it also nicely fulfilled my PDA square for Winterhawk Bingo, so there we go! It's fate!!!!!!!

It’s seven PM on Saturday night, and if Bucky doesn’t have pizza in his mouth in the next thirty seconds, he’s gonna lose his mind. Which would still probably be a mild reaction compared to whatever Clint might see fit to do.

As if on cue, the waitress appears, depositing a sizzling hot pizza on the table between the two of them.

“So how long have the two of you been together?” the waitress asks as Clint dives in with both hands. The cheese is steaming and looks molten-hot to Bucky, but Clint never minds a burn or two when it comes to pizza.

“Three years,” Bucky says slowly. Clint usually handles these questions for them, but he’s already got one slice of pizza in each hand, stretchy strings of cheese dangling off of him like he’s a marionette who’s broken free. He’s no use once pizza is in the equation.

“Three years!” she coos at them. “You’re still just babies! Trust me, it only gets better from here.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” Bucky says politely. He extends his plate towards Clint, accepting one of the stringy pizza slices, and he waits for her to leave the table. But she doesn’t leave.

“There’s nothing like that first kiss though, am I right?” she asks, and Bucky doesn’t know how much longer he can play along with this invasive chitchat. He _hates_ this part of it. Clint lets it roll off his back pretty much, but Bucky can’t stand the scrutiny, the intimate questions.

“Sorry, darlin’, that’s private,” Clint says, his voice cutting smoothly through Bucky’s growing anxiety. He runs his slightly-greasy thumb reassuringly over Bucky’s knuckles, and Bucky smiles at him gratefully.

“Really?” she asks, pouting dramatically. “Not even one little kiss?”

“We don’t do that in public,” Clint says, and his voice is soft and comforting. He meets Bucky’s eyes, then looks away, almost bashfully. “It just gets too intense. Too passionate.”

“Okay then,” she says begrudgingly. “I suppose this _is_ a family establishment after all. You two enjoy your evening and let me know if I can do anything else for you.”

She gives them one last longing look as she walks away from the table. Clint waits until she’s around the corner before he snorts and rolls his eyes. He releases Bucky’s hand and immediately grabs his slice of pizza, jamming half of it into his mouth.

“People are such suckers,” he mumbles around his mouthful of bread and cheese.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly, looking at the greasy fingerprint smudged over his knuckles.

“Too passionate,” Clint repeats to himself, shaking his head. “People will believe anything if you tell them it’s soulmate shit. They deserve to be conned out of their pizza, I swear.”

It’s a line Bucky’s heard a bunch of times from Clint over the last several months, ever since they started the scam. They accidentally found out that lots of restaurants offer discreet deals for soulmate couples after a waiter at this same pizza place eavesdropped on their conversation a bit and then mistook them for soulmates. When the bill arrived, their meal was significantly discounted, and the waiter had written them a note about the sanctity of soulmate bonds and the importance of young love.

It seemed like a joke at first, or a trick. Certainly too good to be true. So they tried it out the next weekend, loudly proclaiming themselves soulmates as soon as they walked in the restaurant, and once again, they finished up the night with a deeply discounted meal. And so the tradition started. So what if they’re really just roommates, not soulmates? So what if Clint’s fucked his way through half of Brooklyn in the last year while Bucky methodically works through his Netflix queue with just his cat for company? Free pizza is free pizza, and neither of them can afford to turn it down.

“Your food’s gonna get cold,” Clint says, and Bucky blinks at him. Clint has already moved onto his third slice, and Bucky hasn’t even touched his first yet. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Bucky says, and he slides the plate back closer and folds the slice in half before taking a bite. He’s good at it now, eating floppy pizza one-handed. It took some getting used to, just like everything else about returning home from war minus an arm and plus a head full of PTSD took some getting used to. Some days are better than others, but at least he’s got the pizza under control.

“It’s gross how everyone wants to watch soulmates kiss,” Clint grumbles, reaching for the garlic and oregano shakers and dousing his new slice with a liberal amount of each. “Fucking perverts, I swear.”

“Disgusting,” Bucky agrees, because this is something else they’ve discussed plenty, and his responses are almost automatic at this point.

That’s how you find your soulmate, obviously. You kiss for the first time, and you feel your soulmate’s thoughts. And then every time you kiss afterwards, it’s supposed to be like that, some kind of mind-melding connection that Bucky doesn’t really get because he’s never had it. And soulmates just...do it. In front of other people. All the time. Perfect strangers are always asking Bucky and Clint to kiss, but Clint’s gotten real good at defusing the situation. He always gets that starry, dreamy look in his eyes and talks about how it’s too passionate. Too intimate. Like kissing Bucky is so fucking overwhelming that he wouldn’t want anyone else to witness it.

It’s fucked up, because Bucky’s never felt anything like even a fraction of what Clint pretends to describe to people, not with any of the dozens of girls he made out with back in high school when kids used to throw kissing parties on the weekends, sucking face with anyone and everyone in search of their soulmates. He never found his, and he didn’t like the way it felt, kissing a string of random girls he barely knew, and so eventually, he stopped looking.

For some people, finding a soulmate is the only goal, the only path forward. They _need_ it, and Bucky just...doesn’t. He supposes it would be nice to have someone like that, but he doesn’t crave it like some people do. It doesn’t define him. He has a job that he likes well enough, and he has a great apartment, and he loves his family and his friends, and he has Clint, the best thing in his life since coming home from Afghanistan. It would be selfish to want anything more. He appreciates what he has, and he isn’t going to pretend that he’s incomplete just because no one’s ever blown his mind with a kiss.

The closest he ever got was with Steve. They were sixteen and best friends, and Steve decided they might as well kiss, just to test it, just to make sure. Part of Bucky had been hoping that maybe Steve _would_ be the one, little Stevie who’d been his friend for ten years and knew him better than anyone. And for a moment, Bucky thought maybe he’d felt something. It felt better than the girls, anyway. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but it was warm and familiar and intimate, and he thought maybe that’s what it was supposed to be like. Like maybe it started out as a small smolder before it turned into a bigger kind of fire. But Steve had just grinned at him and shrugged and said, “I guess not!” and that was that.

“People are sick fucks,” Clint says. “You think she’s gonna go home to her soulmate tonight and think about us when they’re fooling around? Do you think that’s what gets her hot, watching strangers make out?”

He pushes his plate away slightly, a sign that he’s taking a break and waiting for Bucky to catch up to him before he goes in for another slice. He never makes a big deal out of it, but Bucky eats a lot slower than Clint does, and Clint always just finds a way to pace himself so they finish up around the same time.

“Who knows?” Bucky says, flipping his crusts onto Clint’s plate, then reaching for a new slice. “Maybe she just really believes in love?” But even as he’s saying it, the words make him want to gag, and Clint chortles and picks at Bucky’s pizza crust.

“Just seems like a lot of wasted energy,” Clint says, staring down at the plate. His voice sounds light, but Bucky sees the tightness in his smile.

Bucky knows that Clint wants a soulmate in a way he himself never really has. And so Clint has kissed a lot of people, always searching, looking for something bigger than himself, desperate for the idea that someone out there would _want_ him. And he hasn’t found a soulmate, but he’s found other ways to make people want him. And so he has a lot of casual sex with a lot of casual people, and if the sounds coming through his bedroom wall are any indication, he’s okay enough with the arrangement.

Sometimes, it’s almost too easy for Bucky to forget that Clint used to want something more than this, more than just free pizza in exchange for pretending to be in love. Because to Bucky, this is so much. It’s the best friendship he’s ever had, even without all the fake soulmate shit. It’s easy for Bucky to forget that Clint used to want something real, and he suspects it’s easy for Clint to forget that, too, which makes it all the more sobering when either of them remember.

Bucky wonders if that’s why Clint never kisses him. If that level of cruel mockery would take things just one step too far.

But it’s okay. Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time, certainly not since he came back from Afghanistan, and he thinks maybe it’s just not for him.

Really, he’s got pretty much anything he could want. He has someone who cares about him, who does less than half of the chores but pays more than half of the rent. Someone with a great dog who gets along with his great cat. Someone who likes all the same restaurants and coffee shops and record stores he does. Someone who always sits on his right side during scary movies so that Bucky has a hand to hold if he freaks out.

He figures that’s more than most people get.

“I was thinking,” Clint says, pushing the crusts around on his plate. “Stark Industries always does a really swanky party for New Year’s, and there’s a discount if you bring your soulmate.”

Bucky nods at him to continue, still chewing on his pizza. It sounds a lot fancier than what they usually do, doesn’t really sound at all like they’re going to come out ahead financially, but he can tag along if this is something Clint wants.

“I’ve never gone, and it’s supposed to be epic,” Clint says. “I don’t know if that’s, like...too much. I don’t know, maybe you already have plans.”

“Of course I don’t have plans,” Bucky says with a snort, as if he’s ever had plans with anyone besides Clint in the years they’ve known each other. “Do _you_ not have plans?”

“No plans,” Clint says with a small smile. “I don’t know, it’s not a good night for a casual date. Too much pressure.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a soulmate to hang out with, I’m right here,” Bucky says with a grin. He and Clint always have fun together, and if this is what Clint needs to distract himself from his love life or lack thereof, Bucky is happy to be of service.

“Adorable!” the waitress trills as she swooshes past them to deposit the check on the corner of their table. “I’ll just leave this right here, but there’s no rush. You lovebirds can stay as long as you like.” She winks at them and lowers her voice. “I gave you two a little discount. It’s always so nice to see young love!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Clint says, and Bucky jams another slice of pizza in his mouth so he doesn’t bust out laughing at the sound of Clint’s fake sincerity.

They alternate paying for meals, because it’s easier than trying to split a reduced check, especially when they’re trying to maintain a soulmates cover. Tonight is Clint’s turn to pay, so Bucky finishes up his slice while Clint digs a pile of crumpled bills out of his pocket and flattens them out.

“You don’t have to rush on my account,” Clint says, counting out a stack of ones. “I don’t have plans or anything. Do you think she’d get mad if I ordered another beer after she already brought the check?”

“No one’s coming over?” Bucky asks, surprised. It’s Saturday night, and that’s a prime night for Clint to find someone hot from an app to spend the rest of his evening with. Though Bucky guesses that most nights are prime nights for Clint to do that. But still, he’d been expecting to walk home together and then disappear into his room while Clint entertained a pretty girl or boy that neither of them would ever see again.

“No plans,” Clint says with a shrug. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Bucky says. The pizza sits warm in his stomach, and he’s looking forward to a quiet evening at home with his best friend. “Nothing scary, though.”

“Nothing scary,” Clint promises with a grin.

And maybe it’s not the coolest, most exciting way to spend a weekend night, but Bucky doesn’t care. When they’re both on the couch in comfy clothes, a purring cat perched on Bucky’s shoulder and a snoozing dog laid out across both their laps, Bucky’s _happy_. They’re both idly stroking Lucky’s fur as they watch the movie, and their fingers bump into each other occasionally. The third time it happens, Clint grabs his hand, gives Bucky’s fingers a little squeeze, and they smile at each other. It’s easy and comfortable. It’s the best way to spend a night.

Clint plays movie after movie, and Bucky doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s already waking up, his head on Clint’s shoulder. Lucky’s curled up on the floor by their feet, but Alpine is long gone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into Clint’s hoodie. “Sorry. Hope I didn’t bother you.”

“You’re fine,” Clint says softly. He has an arm slung around Bucky’s shoulders, almost cradling Bucky to his body, and it’s very safe and very warm, and part of Bucky wants to just slip back to sleep.

“Tell me about this party we’re going to,” Bucky says with a yawn. “Do we have to dress fancy?”

“Probably a little bit fancy,” Clint says. His hand is resting lightly on Bucky’s upper arm, and Bucky feels the warmth of his palm like a beacon pulling him back to the surface. “Is that okay?”

“We’ll make something work,” Bucky says, mentally rifling through his wardrobe as if he’s going to discover some secret tuxedo he forgot about owning. “Maybe there are some clothing stores that give soulmate discounts.”

“Maybe,” Clint agrees. He looks down at nothing in particular, and he’s so close that Bucky can’t help but be struck by his eyelashes, how long and delicate they look against his freckled cheeks.

Bucky knows that Clint is attractive. He knows this from the constant parade of beautiful people lining up to fuck him, and from the looks Clint gets sometimes when they’re out somewhere. He’s seen so many other people look at Clint with their eyes full of _hunger_. And Bucky also knows that Clint is attractive objectively, with the eyes in his own head. Clint’s facial features are pleasing, and his body is toned and nice.

Sometimes, Bucky also knows this subjectively. Like when Clint smiles a certain way, so that the kindness radiates from his eyes. There is something warm and genuine inside of him that permeates his entire being. His goodness makes him more handsome, and Bucky understands why people fall over themselves to climb into his bed.

“I might be about to make this real awkward,” Clint says, and his fingers tighten just the slightest bit against Bucky’s arm, so subtle that Bucky might not have even noticed it if he wasn’t just so, so aware of Clint’s nearness at the moment.

“Can’t be any more awkward than when I walked in on that girl blowing you on the couch last week,” Bucky says lightly. God, that was _this_ couch. He still can’t decide whether he or Clint was more traumatized by that accidental encounter, although the girl didn’t seem to mind so much.

Clint chuckles softly, and he scratches the back of his neck with his right hand. As soon as he moves his palm away, Bucky feels weirdly bereft, like the heat and the pressure and the closeness of Clint was the way that things were supposed to be. Like the distance between them is incorrect. Which is...confusing.

“It’s a New Year’s party,” Clint says. He flicks his eyes over to Bucky, meets his gaze. “So, like. People are gonna be….”

“Kissing,” Bucky finishes for him, and he becomes weirdly aware of the beating of his own heart.

“Really hard to avoid,” Clint says apologetically. “We don’t have to go if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

“People will know about us,” Bucky says, somewhere sidestepping the question Clint hasn’t quite articulated. “If we don’t kiss, they’re going to get suspicious. The usual excuse won’t work this time.”

“No, it probably won’t,” Clint agrees. “We could try using it anyway.”

“We don’t want to get found out.” Bucky licks at his lips. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go then,” Clint says, and he’s looking at Bucky intently. _Intensely_.

Bucky has never thought about--

Well, no. That’s not entirely true.

Bucky has _almost_ never thought about kissing Clint before. It’s not been part of their equation. Bucky hasn’t searched out a soulmate in years, figured he probably didn’t have one. Went to war, thought he had even odds of dying and having the whole thing be redundant anyway. Came back home, and had a lot of other shit taking precedence. He had to do a lot of work on himself, and searching for a soulmate felt trivial in comparison. It’s okay for other people, but it’s not for him, and he’s known that about himself for a very long time, a fact that’s solid and permanent in his mind.

People kiss because they’re looking for soulmates. That’s _it_. That’s mostly it, anyway. Bucky has never kissed anyone he’s liked, not that he’s ever really liked anyone anyway, and he doesn’t want a soulmate, and he probably doesn’t even have one out there waiting for him. He’s probably not supposed to end up with anyone, so kissing is pointless. Wanting is pointless.

But in this moment, with Clint’s face so close to his, Clint’s body still so warm and solid against his side, Bucky’s eyes slide to Clint’s mouth, to his slightly parted lips and the pink tip of his tongue and his crooked row of bottom teeth, and he lets himself wonder, for just one moment, what it would be like to find someone who loved him best.

“You want to go,” Bucky says, and his mouth feels so dry. “To the party. You want to go to the party. We shouldn’t miss it.”

“I do, but.” Clint’s brow furrows with concern. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not such a big deal,” Bucky lies, and his heartbeat picks up, skittery and frantic, because it _is_. It’s _such_ a big deal.

“I could…,” Clint says tentatively. “I mean, _we_ could….”

“You could kiss me,” Bucky says quietly. “Just, you know. For appearances. It’s not a big deal.” He keeps saying that, like maybe it will make this true. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so many years, Jesus.

“Maybe,” Clint says.

And Bucky feels weirdly cold all at once, because it sounds like Clint’s brushing him off, like he can kiss every weird fucking stranger he meets online, but the idea of kissing Bucky isn’t so appealing for him, not even for the sake of the scam, and it just--

“Maybe I should kiss you now,” Clint says instead, and the ice in Bucky’s blood turns to warm, liquid honey, and he doesn’t understand why. “You know, to practice. So it looks natural when we’re doing it in front of everyone else.”

“Maybe you should,” Bucky says, as if _practice kissing_ could possibly be a logical suggestion in any context ever. It doesn’t make any sense, but he wants to know. He angles himself towards Clint, tilts his chin up a little bit, but then he doesn’t do anything else. He can’t. He feels like he’s stepped outside of his own body, like he’s playing a role or a character, pretending to be a person he’s never been. All he can do is hold still and hope that Clint will take care of him.

“Okay,” Clint says, and his voice is so faint, just a whisper. He brings his hand back towards Bucky, but instead of cupping his upper arm, Clint is cradling his face, and his fingers are delicate and careful against Bucky’s cheek.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers back, right before Clint’s lips brush his.

Clint’s mouth touches Bucky’s, and the world falls silent.

Clint’s mouth touches Bucky’s, and the world explodes into ten million riotous possibilities.

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut as Clint’s mouth covers his own, and behind his closed eyelids, Bucky sees stars. He sees galaxies. The pressure against his mouth is tentative, then persuasive, and Bucky lets himself be carried away. Clint’s tongue is caramel against his lips, smooth and sweet, sliding slickly against him until Bucky opens his mouth and just… 

One moment, he is a man sitting on a couch kissing his friend, and the next, he’s becoming something different. They both are. Bucky breathes in, and all he tastes is Clint. He whimpers softly, and Clint licks away his noises.

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d even _like_ this, but this is slow and gentle and delicate, and it’s _Clint_ , who is so kind and so handsome. Clint, who knows him so well, who Bucky feels so safe and comfortable around, and Clint’s mouth is tender and generous agaist his own, and it’s just...fuck, it’s so nice. Kissing Clint is the nicest feeling, and he never would have guessed.

“What the fuck?” Bucky whispers shakily against Clint’s mouth, his eyes still shut. He’s trembling. “Clint, what the fuck?”

Clint doesn’t answer with words, just touches his lips easily back to Bucky’s, and Bucky _feels_ something. It’s curious and tender, little tendrils of Clint’s thoughts nipping at his own consciousness, like a puppy trying to coax its owner to play. Bucky breathes out through his nose shakily, and he tries to relax, and Clint’s feelings come rushing into him.

He feels the goodness of Clint, his kindness, his generosity, his pure and perfect heart.

He feels the protectiveness that Clint has for him, the empathy, the genuine care and warmth that Clint saves just for him.

He feels an undercurrent of something more elusive, something slinky and wordless that coils warm and tight in Bucky’s spine, a curious kind of desire that is barely being contained.

Clint feels that. For _him_. He can feel Clint’s feelings, and that’s something that only soulmates can do, and that means--

“Do you even like me?” Bucky asks, finally opening his eyes. No one’s ever liked him before. He’s sure that no one has _ever_ liked him before. He looks at Clint, looks deep into his dilated pupils. “I didn’t know you liked me.”

“I.” Clint blinks, keeps blinking. He looks dazed and turned on, perfectly rumpled and so devastatingly sexy. Bucky’s never really wanted to kiss anyone before now, but he wants to fucking _devour_ Clint. “Bucky.”

It’s as good an invitation as any, and Bucky leans back into him, licking at his lips until Clint groans and catches Bucky’s face with both his hands, holding Bucky still and careful as they kiss. Bucky doesn’t like being touched, doesn’t like being held, but he finds that he _loves_ being held by Clint. He moans into Clint’s mouth, and Clint lets out a satisfied sigh and launches himself into Bucky’s lap. Bucky wraps his arm around Clint’s back to hold him in place, because Clint is too big for this position and keeps threatening to slide right off Bucky’s lap, but Bucky doesn’t _care_. Clint towers over him, and they’re all sharp elbows and clumsy teeth as they keep hungrily kissing each other, and it doesn’t matter. All Bucky feels is wonder and gratitude and hope and desire, all swirling around together, and he doesn’t know if these are his feelings or Clint’s, or maybe some combination of the both of them.

“You’re my soulmate,” Clint is murmuring now, kissing each word into Bucky’s tender lips. His voice is awed, full of wonder. “It’s you. You’re mine.”

“It’s me,” Bucky whispers weakly.

Clint is so good at kissing. Bucky knows he’s had a lot of practice at it, and that thought sobers him slightly, the reminder that Clint has kissed a lot of people, that Clint is used to a very active sex life with a lot of very active strangers, and Bucky doesn’t know if he can be that, is actually fairly sure that he _can’t_ be that. And if he can’t be that, how can he be enough? Shit, he doesn’t know what this means.

“Stop that,” Clint says, rubbing his nose against Bucky’s. “Whatever bad shit you’re thinking right now, knock it off.”

“You know what I was thinking?” Bucky asks guiltily.

“Not exactly,” Clint says. He pulls back a few more inches, and Bucky can see the reluctance on his face growing with every bit of distance between them. “It’s not that specific. But I feel doubts in you, and...shame?” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me about it. But you….” He rubs his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, then traces his eyebrow with a reverent fingertip. “You’re mine for a reason. And I’m yours.”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t know what to say. Clint has been waiting to find a soulmate for a long time, and he just doesn’t want to be a disappointment.

“You’re perfect,” Clint says. “It’s perfect that it’s you. Of course it’s you. I’m so fucking glad.”

“Really?”

Clint doesn’t say anything, just moves in again for another soft, searching kiss. Bucky’s mouth moves with his like they’ve been doing this forever, like they already know and understand each other. And the feelings he gets from Clint are overwhelming. It’s comfort. It’s yearning. It’s satisfaction, deep in his bones.

It’s almost too much, to know that Clint feels like this because of him. To know that he did this to another person. To Clint, who’s done so much and felt so much and experienced so much. Bucky doesn’t understand how it could be possible.

“Are you okay?” Clint whispers against his mouth, and Bucky realizes that everything he’s feeling is being transmitted to Clint, and he thinks he needs to pause.

“I’m okay,” Bucky says, pulling back only a little. Clint’s still close enough that his breath tickles Bucky’s lips, but not close enough for the feelings to be so intense. “Do you...feel me like I feel you? Is this really happening?”

“Yeah, babe,” Clint says. He runs his thumb along Bucky’s lower lip, and his eyes trace the motion, reverently, like he’s astonished by what he’s touching. “I can feel you.”

“What do I feel like?” Bucky asks quietly, and he’s almost scared to know the answer, but he has to know it. He has to.

“You’re happy,” Clint says tentatively. “And you’re confused. And you’re hopeful, but you’re not sure how much you’re allowed to hope. And.” Clint hesitates, and Bucky stops breathing for a moment, wondering what private, intimate thing about him is now available to Clint and no longer his alone. “I think you want me and don’t know if you’re allowed to,” Clint says more softly, his thumb a steady pressure against Bucky’s lower lip. “But you’re allowed to. I’m yours.”

“What else?” It’s all true, of course it’s true, but hearing Clint say it, knowing that Clint _knows_ it, god, he doesn’t know if he’s ready for any of this.

“I think you want me to take control,” Clint says carefully. “You want me to lead. To show you that it’s okay. And it is, babe. It’s okay to want me.” Clint pulls his hand away from Bucky’s lip suddenly, and his eyes look worried. “Sorry, am I…? Am I doing it right? You...you _do_ want me, don’t you? Did I get it wrong?”

Bucky lets his eyes close for a moment, because it’s so much, and he needs to think. Because if someone had asked him this even an hour ago, he knows how he would have answered. Because of course he didn’t want Clint, not that like that. He cared about Clint, loved him even, if he was being honest. But he didn’t want anyone, so he couldn’t want Clint. That’s not who he was.

And now everything is different. He’s not the same person he was, the same person he’s been. Clint kissed him, and now Bucky is someone new. And it’s thrilling, but it’s unnerving, too. To realize he’s misjudged himself so entirely.

“I want you,” Bucky says as quietly as he can, keeping his eyes shut, as if not seeing Clint’s face will make revealing himself any less terrifying. “And I’m scared by how much.”

“I know,” Clint says. His voice is gentle, and the hand he places on Bucky’s right shoulder is gentle, and the rhythmic tickle of his breath against Bucky’s lips is gentle, gentle, gentle. “This is a lot, all at once. It’s okay if you’re scared. I’m nervous, too. This is a big deal, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I want to be...good for you, Bucky.”

“You are,” Bucky says, and he opens his eyes again. “Shit, Clint, I don’t know what any of this means. I don’t know if anything’s ever going to be the same again. But I’m glad it’s you. I didn’t think it was ever gonna be anyone, but I’m glad it’s you. Of course you’re good for me. You never have to worry about that.”

“I’m gonna try real hard,” Clint says and he looks so serious as he says it that some of the tension inside Bucky settles, just a little. “Can I…? Is it okay if I kissed you again? I want to, but only if you want to.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just tips his chin up subtly and lets his lips brush against Clint’s. Their mouths find each other so easily, like magnets finding their North. Clint’s mouth tastes like a possibility, and that’s what Bucky sees behind his closed eyes.

He sees quiet nights at home, curled up on the couch together, Clint’s head a comfortable weight where it rests on Bucky’s shoulder. He sees take-out containers littering the coffee table, the two of them teasing each other about whose turn it is to clean up the mess.

He sees them taking Lucky for long walks, the leash hooked to Clint’s belt loops, Clint’s arm slung low around Bucky’s hips, coffee cups in their hands, their thighs brushing against one another with each step.

He sees them in bed together, Lucky curled up at their feet and Alpine by Bucky’s head. He sees them kiss each other goodnight, soft and sweet and private, and then they turn off the lights and settle down into their blankets and fall asleep together, all of them, like a family.

All of it is somehow both casual and intimate. It’s almost but not quite what they do now. It’s how they already are, but it’s just a little bit more.

“Is that you, or is that me?” Bucky asks quietly, his lips brushing Clint’s with each word.

“I don’t know,” Clint says, kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “But I want that. If that’s you, I want it, too.”

He’s saying all the right words, and he even sounds like he means them, but--

“How can that be true?” Bucky asks in frustration. He doesn’t want Clint to stop kissing him, _god_ he does _not_ want Clint to stop kissing him, but he forces himself to pull back anyway, squaring his shoulders and letting Clint slide off his lap onto the couch.

“What do you mean?” Clint asks. His hair is sticking up, and his lips are so red and swollen from kissing, and Bucky is just now realizing that his T-shirt is on inside-out. He’s such a mess, and Bucky wants to kiss every last one of his freckles.

“I know what you’re like,” Bucky says stiffly. “We share a wall. You’re not...you’re not looking for a soulmate just to walk your dog and drink coffee with.”

“I love walking my dog and drinking coffee with you,” Clint says, and there’s a wounded look in his eyes that Bucky can’t bear.

“I don’t want you to settle for me,” Bucky says more softly, “if you’d be happier with someone else more compatible. Or lots of someone elses. Fuck, I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” Clint says, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what the fuck? More _compatible_? What the shit, Bucky? You’re my _soulmate_.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, because it feels like he just makes it worse every time he opens his mouth, and he doesn’t want this to be worse, he wants it to be perfect. But he’s not what Clint is looking for, and if he pretends to be, he’s just a fraud. Clint deserves the best, deserves every happiness that the world has to offer, and Bucky isn’t going to lie just to keep him, even if the thought of losing him so soon is devastating.

“Hey, shh, I’m sorry,” Clint says, shuffling closer on the couch, letting his hip bump into Bucky’s. “Don’t be upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Bucky says, blinking rapidly, not looking over at Clint. “I’m just being realistic.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means look at how many people you’ve had over since we’ve been roommates, and look at how many people I’ve had over, and then tell me you still think we’re soulmates.” Bucky shakes his head. “God, Clint.”

Clint’s quiet for a long time, and when Bucky finally sneaks a glance, Clint is looking at his hands in his lap, folding and refolding his fingers together, a rhythm repetition of catch and release.

“It’s not that many people,” Clint says quietly. “You always make it sound like I’ve fucked half of Brooklyn, but it’s not...it’s not _that_ many. I guess it’s too many for you, but I’m not going to apologize for that. I know some people like to wait for their soulmate, but I didn’t, and I’m not going to be ashamed of that.”

“I’m not...I’m not judging you,” Bucky says, shocked. “No, it’s me. I mean, I don’t...I don’t know how to _be_ like that. I might never be like that. I might never be...enough. For you.”

“You’re my soulmate,” Clint says simply, as if anything about this is simple. “We fit together. We just do. You’re not supposed to change or be anything different. The way you are is the way you’re supposed to be.”

“Do you really like me?” Bucky whispers. “Are you sure? I’ve been here for years. I’ve been here the whole time.”

“I’ve always liked you,” Clint says, and he finally looks over at Bucky, gives him a half-smile that has Bucky’s knees so weak that he wants to melt into the couch. “It just never felt mutual. You didn’t give me any kind of vibe or ever make a move, so I just kind of...didn’t pursue it.”

“I liked you,” Bucky says quietly. “I just didn’t think I could have you.”

“Well, shit,” Clint says. He cradles Bucky’s face in his hand, and his palm is so warm and broad against Bucky’s cheek. “You mean we could’ve done this years ago?”

Clint brushes his lips over Bucky’s. It’s just a tender graze but even this simple touch is so intense. Bucky feels Clint’s wonderment, his relief. And deep down, he tastes the vestiges of hurt feelings, that last lingering drop of shame.

“You’re perfect,” Bucky murmurs against Clint’s mouth, so that he can feel how much Bucky means it. “I’m so lucky that it’s you.”

Lucky jolts wide awake at the sound of his name, and suddenly the couch is alive with seventy pounds of golden fur and excited yips, as Lucky jumps into their laps and pushes his face right up against theirs to see what’s going on, what his people are doing so intently without him.

“Settle down,” Clint says mildly, scratching Lucky behind the ears, and he’s rewarded with a sloppy lick to his cheek. “Jeez, I think we all know who the worst kisser on this couch is.”

Bucky ruffles his fingers through the soft hair on Lucky’s belly, and he listens to Clint coo and fuss over the dog, and he smiles until his face hurts.

“Okay,” Clint says eventually, “it’s getting late, and it’s been a long day. I think I’m gonna crash.”

Bucky nods, and his heart hammers wildly.

“Do you want to come with me?” Clint asks carefully. “You don’t have to, but you can if you want.”

“I don’t think,” Bucky says, but then he _does_ think, and he-- “I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Clint says, and his smile is tired but kind. “We don’t have to figure out all of it tonight, babe.”

And in spite of himself, Bucky wants to believe him.

They walk towards their rooms, Clint staggering under the weight of Lucky in his arms, Bucky almost next to him but just a step behind, following Clint’s lead.

“Go to bed, doggo,” Clint says, depositing Lucky on the ground, and they watch as he shakes himself out and then launches himself at Clint’s bed, promptly falling asleep in the exact middle. Then Clint turns back to Bucky, and his full attention is so much.

“Goodnight,” Bucky says softly.

“Goodnight,” Clint says. He places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and slides it higher, tickling the hairs at the back of Bucky’s neck, but he doesn’t make any move to pull Bucky closer, to push him or try anything at all.

“I like you,” Bucky says, his eyes focused on the sharp corners of Clint’s cheekbones. “But.”

It’s too intimate, it’s _too intimate_ , and he doesn’t know how he’s even going to get the words out. Even holding the thought in his head makes him anxious and sick, he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to _say it_. But it’s Clint. And he has to try, and he has to believe he isn’t going to ruin everything, somehow.

“I don’t know if I want to have sex with you,” Bucky whispers. “I might. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Clint says carefully.

“It’s not about _you_ ,” he hastens to add. “It’s me. I don’t know if I want to with anyone. I’m really sorry.”

“Okay,” Clint says again, and he chews on his lip, considering. “I mean...I _do_ want to have sex with you? I’m not trying to pressure you by saying that, but I know you’ll be able to read me and know I’m thinking it, so I’m just going to be honest with you.”

It’s a weird thought for Bucky to hold in his head, the idea that someone is attracted to him and wants to have sex with him. He’s never wanted anyone, so part of him always just assumed that no one wanted him either. He wonders how many people he’s met have thought about him like that. He wonders how many signs he’s missed over the years.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Clint murmurs. “Christ, I can feel you freaking out from all the way over here, without even kissing you.” He licks his lips, looking uncomfortable. “Hey, listen, we don’t even have to kiss if you don’t like it. I’m sorry if I made you feel like--”

“No,” Bucky says softly. “I like kissing you. And I want...Clint, I probably want to at least try, at some point? I don’t know how much is going to be too much, but can we…?” _Will you stick around long enough for me to figure myself out?_

“We’ll work it out,” Clint says. His fingers are still curled around the back of Bucky’s neck, and one twitches just a little bit. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” Bucky asks. Clint’s free hand slips into Bucky’s, and Bucky concentrates on the press of his palm, the warmth of his skin. “Because like...I might never want to. How is that fair to you? How are you going to be okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Clint says, running his thumb along Bucky’s index finger. “Babe, I don’t have all the answers yet. But you’re my soulmate, and that means we fit together. You and me. There’s no one better for me than you, no one out there anywhere. So I don’t know what happens next or what this ends up looking like, but I know we figure it out. Right? We figure it out, and it works for us. And even if we never have sex, not even once, being with you here is still going to be better for me than having sex with anyone who’s not you.”

“Kiss me,” Bucky whispers, because he needs to feel what Clint is feeling in this exact moment. Because he wants Clint to feel him, too. Because he wants Clint to close his eyes before Bucky’s tears start to fall.

Clint exhales softly, and then his lips touch Bucky’s, gentler than any time before. He keeps his mouth closed, just brushes his lips back and forth over Bucky’s, and Bucky feels the smoothness of his lips and the gentle feeling of Clint’s breath. And then he feels Clint’s feelings, the gratitude, the protectiveness, the loyalty, the relief. Bucky never would have guessed it, but kissing Clint feels so, so safe.

With a quiet sigh, Clint finally pulls away, and Bucky opens his eyes, watching Clint’s handsome features swim into focus as he slowly retreats. Up close, Bucky falls in love with every one of his faint freckles, and he screws up his nerve and leans in again, placing a soft kiss to Clint’s dappled left cheek, just because he can and he wants to.

Clint smiles. Bucky smiles back, and then he kisses his other cheek.

Twenty minutes ago, Bucky didn’t think he cared about soulmates or kissing or any of it. But he thinks maybe the rules are different for Clint than they are for anyone else, and maybe that’s the whole point of having a soulmate. They fit together in a way that Bucky could never even imagine fitting with anyone else. He doesn’t want to promise anything he can’t follow through on, but he’s changing. He knows he is, even in just this short amount of time.

Bucky has no idea how much he’ll keep changing, but he wants to find out.

*

A few weeks later, they’re both at Stark’s ostentatious New Year’s Eve party. Bucky’s already a little tipsy from the champagne, but he feels Clint’s hand on his lower back, a constant steadying presence, and he knows he’s safe and looked after, and that fizzes in his veins even more hotly than the alcohol does.

There’s a buzz in the air as the countdown to midnight starts, and Bucky thinks about what a new year actually brings. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe this is what it feels like to realize your life is about to change.

Maybe this is what it feels like to realize your life already has.

“Ten,” Clint whispers, kissing the side of Bucky’s head. “Nine. Eight.” He continues his way across Bucky’s forehead and down his cheek, murmuring numbers into Bucky’s flushed skin. Bucky presses up on his toes, looping his arm securely around Clint’s neck. He tilts his chin upwards and lets his lips part, and he’s so excited that he barely knows what to do with himself. Everything is starting. Everything is new. He can’t wait.

“Happy New Year, baby,” Clint says, and Bucky licks into his mouth. Clint’s arm is still anchoring his lower back, and Bucky gets brave, rocking his body into Clint, wrapping one of his thighs around Clint’s hip like he’s trying to climb him. Clint laughs against his mouth, and Bucky swallows down his laughter, and he feels Clint’s amusement and his passion, he feels Clint’s dick hardening against his own, he tastes Clint’s arousal on his tongue. He’s not quite drunk, his judgment is not impaired. But for once in his life, he’s relaxed, and he’s going to take advantage of that and explore for a bit.

Chatter starts up again around them as everyone else stops kissing and returns to their conversations. But Bucky digs his fingers into the back of Clint’s shoulder and whimpers and keeps kissing him, and Bucky’s excitement feeds off of Clint’s own.

It’s ages before they break apart. Clint’s pupils are so dilated that his eyes look black, and his lips are wet and slack, and fuck, Bucky wants to kiss him again. He licks his own lips, slick from Clint’s tongue.

“Well, shit,” a woman says from behind them. Bucky turns his head just slightly, and in his peripheral vision, he catches sight of the waitress from a few weeks ago, holding hands with the man who must be her soulmate. “Y’all weren’t kidding when you said it was too intense to do in public.”

Bucky feels himself flushing, but Clint throws his head back laughing, and a moment later, Bucky joins in.

*

_August in the city is the worst. The vinyl of the booth sticks to the backs of Bucky’s legs, and he feels a trickle of sweat meandering down the side of his neck, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. His sole hand is already occupied with the pizza slice he just spent six minutes trying to pick up._

_Across the table, Clint is methodically working through his second slice, biting and chewing and swallowing without seeming to focus on any of it, and for a minute, Bucky just watches him eat, watches the way his teeth sink into the crust, the way his Adam’s apple rises and falls. There’s a tiny bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth, and Clint catches it with his thumb, which he slides between his lips to lick clean._

_Bucky looks away, tries to focus on his own slice of pizza, precariously balanced in his right hand. He ducks his head to take a bite, then promptly drops the slice back onto his plate._

_“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Shit.” It’s so fucking frustrating that even after all this time, he can’t even manage to eat a goddamn piece of pizza without it being a huge ordeal._

_He likes going out to eat with Clint, likes how normal it feels to walk into a restaurant with a friend, to sit at a table together and talk about how many apps to get and whether they should each order their own beer or split a pitcher. He’s never had a friend like this before, and some dumb part of him worries that Clint isn’t going to keep inviting him out if he can’t learn how to fucking eat faster._

_“Shit,” Clint agrees. He polishes off the rest of his slice, then selects a new one, setting it down on his plate and eyeing it critically. “Okay, let’s figure this the fuck out.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“I’m thinking,” Clint murmurs. He places one of his hands in his lap, then uses the other to try picking up the pizza. He gets a good third of it balanced on his first two fingers before it flops back over. “Well, fuck.”_

_“Yup,” Bucky says glumly. Eating pizza one handed sucks. At least Clint is trying, though. It’s better than the waitress who walked over to his table one time and cheerily asked if he wouldn’t prefer to use a knife and fork, as if that was going to somehow be an easier task to accomplish one-handed._

_“No, man. We got this.” Clint frowns down at his pizza consideringly. “Seriously. I am the king of pizza. Pizza is not the boss of me.”_

_“Okay,” Bucky says, and he momentarily stops his struggle and watches Clint work. “Good luck, Pizza King.”_

_It takes about ten minutes and twelve botched attempts, but soon enough, Clint has devised a way to slide his thumb under the slice and then pass it from finger to finger until he’s cradling it securely in a single palm._

_“I got it!” He takes a big bite, then grins at Bucky. There’s sauce on his teeth. It’s horrifyingly endearing. “You try it.”_

_Bucky tries to mimic his motions, but he can’t quite figure out how Clint juggles the slice from his third to his fourth finger without losing his grip entirely, no matter how many times Clint demonstrates the maneuver from across the table._

_“Guess my fingers aren’t as dextrous as yours,” he says glumly, which is a demoralizing realization to have about his sole remaining hand._

_“Bullshit,” Clint says. He tilts back his head and polishes off the rest of his beer, then he slides his way out of the booth and walks around to Bucky’s side. “Scoot over.”_

_Bucky moves down wordlessly, the vinyl creaking and protesting as it tries to cling on to his flushed skin. He makes enough space for Clint, who plops down immediately, and Bucky rocks up slightly as the weight of Clint’s body makes the whole ledge feel like a bit of a seesaw for a moment._

_“Watch me do it,” Clint says._

_And then he’s sliding closer, right into Bucky’s space, until his left thigh is pressed up against Bucky’s right thigh. Clint places his right arm perfectly alongside Bucky’s own, and his skin is so warm and unexpectedly soft. Clint hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky can feel Clint’s breath tickling his right ear._

_“Like this,” Clint murmurs, and he dips his arm down slowly so that Bucky can follow along, mimicking the motion. Bucky’s body uses Clint’s body as a guide, and together, they each scoop up a piece of pizza and shuffle it from finger to finger. With Clint’s careful guidance, Bucky is triumphantly holding his own slice in no time._

_“Holy shit,” he says, astonished. No one has ever been this patient with him. No one has ever tried this hard to make something easier without being patronizing about it._

_“You did it!” Clint crows. “Fuck, yes! That’s amazing!”_

_“I did it,” Bucky agrees, then he leans over and snags a huge bite from the slice in Clint’s hand. Clint howls in outrage, then Bucky holds his own slice careful and still so that Clint can lean over and take an aggressively large bite in retaliation._

_Bucky turns his head to the side and smiles at Clint, and Clint smiles back at him, and Bucky feels a sudden rush of gratitude for this caring, kind person who makes his life so much better. All he’d even done was answer a roommate ad on Craigslist. He never knew it was going to lead to such a powerful, important friendship._

_“You’re my favorite,” Bucky tells him eventually, and Clint’s eyes crinkle up as his smile widens, fond and goofy._

_“Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favorite before.”_

_“Well. You’re mine.”_

_Clint’s smile softens at Bucky’s words, and he butts his head into the side of Bucky’s. When he pulls back, there’s an intensity in his eyes that Bucky has never seen before, and he’s suddenly aware of exactly how close they are, exactly how much of his body is touching Clint’s own, and for one wild improbable moment, he gets the strangest feeling that Clint is about to kiss him._

_“You, too,” Clint says gently as the waiter approaches their table with the bill. “You’re mine, too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/189837633599/title-i-dont-have-a-choice-but-i-still-choose)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Still Choose You (The Public Domain Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811723) by [mariana_oconnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor)




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